


The Trickster

by otapocalypse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Caretaking, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otapocalypse/pseuds/otapocalypse
Summary: Everything changes when Yuri Plisetsky finds a wounded bear in the woods





	The Trickster

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Otayuri Gift Exchange on Tumblr, for sheith-and-otayuri. A bit wordy, and rated for the blood and violence, just in case (I promise it's brief)! Hope you like it!

One rule his grandpa had always impressed into his mind, in all their years living out in their small wood cabin in the wilds, had been _never approach a wild animal._ They were unpredictable, he claimed. _They may look cute and cuddly, but they are still dangerous. Never go near one, thinking you will not be hurt._ And Yuri had agreed with him, replying with a, _yes, grandpa!_ And that had been that. Of course, following that rule proved more difficult when the opportunity to break it was staring him in the face. Yuri had set out in the morning to fetch something that day- what exactly his grandfather had sent him for was lost in his mind when, after only a half hour of walking, rising up out of the cold, glistening snow, was a large, hairy form, still and lifeless, and after only a single pause, Yuri advanced closer to see what it was.

A few feet away now, he could determine that it was a young bear, wounded or sleeping, or in some other state that prevented it from running off or rushing for him. Grabbing a stick, the young boy boldly advanced closer, out of curiosity, he told himself, creeping forward, until he could see the whites of the bear’s large eyes, and gasped, dropping his makeshift weapon.

What had appeared to be a young, wounded black bear at first glance had become something much more, as strikingly dark human eyes stared back at him, wide as if in fear. The bear’s breathing was laboured, and a dark substance was seeping into the cold ground around one of his back legs. Yuri’s mind, turning over and over, eventually came to one conclusion; the bear had to be a trickster. They were an old legend at this point, but one that Yuri knew well. His grandpa had believed in them since he was a little boy, and had told Yuri all the stories. Tricksters were earthly forest spirits that could take the form of anything they saw, and while they could mean good or bad news for humans depending on their temperament and love of mischief, they more often left people alone, so long as they were left alone themselves. Tricksters were known as powerful and mysterious creatures, with the ability to use magic and grant luck to those who they deemed worthy.

This one, however, did not seem powerful or mysterious. He seemed pitiful, and tired, and the eyes that stared back were so like his own that Yuri found himself garnering sympathy for the bear. He was a lot smaller in person than Yuri would have imagined, and much fluffier around the head and neck, which were thin, and topped with a pair of large ears and a wide nose. Perhaps these were the qualities that finalized the decision brewing in Yuri’s mind, giving the last little nudge needed for him to act. Glancing around quickly, the young man scrambled back to the branch and took it up again, holding it out like a weapon, and once more advanced on the bear.

“I know what you are,” he said quietly, in that thick accent of his. “And I am just trying to help you. So if you cooperate, neither of us has to be hurt. I know you understand me.” He added, watching the bear’s dark eyes flick from him, to the branch, and back to him. Then, the trickster let out a groan, and Yuri remembered another piece of lore, buried beneath all the other stories taught to him. _A wounded trickster cannot shapeshift. They become stuck in the form they were injured in, until they heal._ Yuri stared at the wound in the bear’s leg, wide-eyed, and tried to imagine what could have left it. The worst he could think of were poachers, or other bears. 

Neither sounded favorable, and his thoughts had him scrambling towards the trickster on the ground, abandoning his weapon and beginning the long, strenuous task of moving the bear off the main path, where more animals would likely find him, and take advantage of his ruined state. Here came much straining and panting on Yuri’s part, and several pained groans and grunts from the bear. Each time, Yuri tried to shush and reassure him, apologizing profusely whenever he bumped the bear’s injured leg. Despite all this, throughout the entire ordeal there was no attack from the bear. He even seemed to help from time to time, pushing along with his uninjured legs before going limp with a sigh once again, as if he’d exhausted all his energy.

The struggle paid off when Yuri managed to drag the bear into a somewhat-sheltered thicket, which provided only the scarcest of shelter. He would get to that later. Now, Yuri shrugged off his heavy winter coat, nearly sweating from the work, and began to clear away the path they had made. He followed their trail back to the beginning, and began kicking snow over it as he slowly returned to the thicket. Once back, he saw the bear had still not moved, opting to instead flop over onto his side much like a dog, his breath still coming in short, labored bursts. Blood still oozed from the wound on his leg, and though it was coming slower now Yuri couldn’t help but feel guilty over the fact that he had not attended to that first. 

He soon got to work, washing the wound out with snow- earning more pained growls- and binding it with part of his undershirt, sliced up with the hunting knife he carried. That left him chilly once more, and so he shrugged on his coat before beginning the next phase of plan: Help the Trickster Bear. Yuri began to cut several long, thick branches from the trees around them. In the thicket were two sturdy oaks, each with a forked branch at about the same height. Between these went one of the branches, and against this, Yuri leaned the rest, digging their opposite ends into the frozen ground so that they would not shift. He then cut fibers from the bark of the trees, and used it to bind the branches in place, creating a quick and sloppy lean-to, still a bit exposed for a young trickster who had lost so much blood. To solve the problem, Yuri hastily packed pine boughs and dead leaves into the spaces, lining them in such a way that if it snowed again, the melting water would flow down the side of the lean-to, rather than drip down onto the bear.

Once he was satisfied with the makeshift shelter, Yuri looked over the bear again, who seemed no better or worse, if less responsive than before. He glanced up; the sun was steadily creeping back down towards the earth now, and he was not keen on returning to his grandpa late and empty handed, with the only excuse being he had forgotten his duties in order to break the most important rule his grandpa had ever taught him. And so, with a whispered apology to the bear, Yuri scrambled away, heading home for the day to at least complete his chores around the cabin.

Luckily that night, his grandpa did not seem to notice anything off or missing, and so their conversation over dinner appeared to go the same as any other evening. “Yuratchka, how is your health today?”

“Fine, grandpa.”

“Did you see anything interesting on your walk?” It was easy enough to lie.

“No, grandpa.”

“How are Potya, and the goats?” It may have seemed bland to those who lived busier lives in the cities and towns, but Yuri would not trade his little life, or his time with his grandpa, for the world. He was all his grandpa had, and vice versa. Besides, Yuri was convinced having more company would cheapen it. He was content with having his grandpa and his cat to talk to, and it meant their attention was valued as it should be, and no other people came to bother them, aside from the occasional hunter passing by.

Yuri did not expect to see the bear again- though he knew curiosity would drive him to check the lean-to eventually, he expected the bear to have gone in the night, lumbered away limping, or shifted into another form, unrecognizable by the time Yuri got to go out in the woods again. Yuri settled down that night with little hope, and even less sadness. Animals and creatures of the woods came and went as they pleased, that was just the way things were.

Though it was a few days before he was sent out again, this time to collect firewood- he was determined not to forget this time; his grandpa needed him- the bear did not leave his mind, and Yuri wondered how the great creature was doing. Had he returned to his little bear family, or was he off lumbering somewhere alone, the picture of cool apathy against a white landscape? Yuri vowed, as he loaded log after log into the pack frame on his back, to go and check the lean-to, just to sate his curiosity. Of course the bear would be gone, he told himself. He simply needed to be sure. 

Once his pack was full, his hands raw and sore from swinging the ax, Yuri turned off the trail, following his markers back to the bear. A twisted tree here, a strange hole in the ground there were his guides as his boots crunched through the snow. There had been another soft layer added the night before, and atop that a thin, icy crust had formed. The temperature had dropped as well, and Yuri almost welcomed the strain of carrying firewood on his back, the exertion allowing him to stay warm.

He was shocked when he approached the lean-to and found the bear still there, his own blood stained shirt still wrapped tightly around the creature’s leg. Moving slowly so as not to upset him, Yuri quietly set his pack on the ground, and approached. The bear opened his eyes, but made no other movement. He looked even thinner now, thick fur plastered to his frame, which was shivering so badly that occasionally, the bear’s entire body would jolt, before immediately settling into a shiver again. Horrified at this unexpected state and thinking quickly, Yuri hurried back to his pack, pulling several logs off the top of the pile and cursing as he dropped a few into the snow in his haste.

He didn’t let that put a damper in his plans, however, and quickly began to build a fire, close enough that the warmth would reach the bear without the sparks flying towards the lean-to. The pieces he’d dropped in the snow proved difficult to light, and it was nearly two hours before the sparks from his knife finally caught. Yuri quickly shoved several smaller twigs and branches into the pile to feed the flame, glancing up at the bear as the fire roared higher, giving off an immense heat.

There was no change. The bear was simply watching him, as it always had, without a single movement or even a swat of the paw to drive him away. Yuri willed himself not to think the worst, and managed to convince his mind the bear would be able to get up and walk away, once he simply had time to warm up. It was getting late now, the sun sinking behind the horizon, and Yuri scrambled up in a panic, loathe to be out in the woods after dark. He rushed home with the firewood he had left, but not before whispering a goodbye to the bear, who he was beginning to doubt would leave on its own.

That night at dinner, after Yuri unloaded the firewood near the stone fireplace and had gone about doing his chores, his grandfather remarked on his strange new habits for the first time.

“You were late, Yuratchka. And there was not as much firewood as you brought before.” His voice was gentle enough, but Yuri still wilted.

“Yes, grandpa…”

Thankfully, he left it at that, and the rest of dinner was eaten in relative silence. Yuri resolved to only do his very best, from that day on. Of course, that did not stop him a few days later when he strayed toward the lean-to during his hunt, his feet taking him there of their own accord. Yuri was not startled to see the bear had still not left, but he was surprised to see it sitting up. He froze for a moment, the two rabbits strung over his shoulder the testament to his hunting skills, and quite possibly bait for the bear. But no, he only blinked back at Yuri, slowly, and again the boy could only stare in awe at how human those eyes seemed to be.

It appeared his friend was slowly getting better, but how long would that last? Looking closer, Yuri could see the thinly veiled shapes of ribs under all that fur, and he thought guiltily back to all the cured meat they had back home. He could tell grandpa he simply hadn’t caught anything. The old man wouldn’t like it, but Yuri could always go out again, if he must. And so, Yuri Plisetsky went home empty handed once more, both of his kills fed to the bear, thrown onto the snowy ground before the wide but gaunt face. Yuri had looked away as the bear lurched forward, and the crunch of bones filled the air. Then, he had left for home, but not before speaking a few reassuring words to the bear.

“I’ll be back again, okay? I’ll keep taking care of you… You don’t have to worry about me, I promise. I’ll… I’ll think of a way.” With that, he had left, quickly cleaning the evidence of his catch off of his hands and clothing. When he admitted to his grandpa over dinner he’d brought nothing home that day, he expected a gruff rebuttal. Instead, what he got was much quieter and gentler, and almost made the weight of the guilt crush him.

“Yuratchka. I don’t think I need to remind you that I depend on you, as does Potya, and the goats. We need you to come through. If something is wrong-”

“It is nothing, grandpa.” Yuri rarely interrupted his grandfather, but his tone was so light, so polite, that the other seemed to let it go. “I am simply having a string of bad luck. But I will work harder to make up for it, I promise.”

Yuri’s days began to fill with work, for with that lie, it seemed Yuri could not go back to his life before caring for the bear, in addition to all his other tasks. In the mornings, he would wake up, wash, start the fire, and feed their animals, breaking his own fast with a piece of bread or sometimes porridge. His grandfather would awake, and give Yuri his work for the day as he prepared his own food, and Yuri would be off, always completing what he needed and learning to only give a fraction of his findings and his time to the bear, before hurrying home to feed the animals again, ensure the fence, doors, and all the windows were secure, and eat dinner with his grandpa before he would collapse into his bed, utterly exhausted. Within hours, he would be up to repeat the process again.

Even on days Yuri did not need to venture out into the woods found him straying to that very spot where the bear awaited. The small lean-to he built on, first by raising the side by a few feet in order to make it more roomy. Then, with only his ax and the wood around him, he built a small wooden fence, driving the branches into the ground and packing them close together, in order to block the wind and reflect the fire’s heat back into the little shelter. The fire, he kept going for as long as he could, occasionally using it to melt snow for the bear to drink, boiling it until it was clean and then waiting for it to grow cold once more. He would talk to the bear during these times, as well, usually to scold him much like he had been scolded by his grandpa when he was very young.

“No, you can’t drink that yet, it’s too hot- you have to at least wait for it to stop boiling!”

“Don’t paw at that, you’ll end up knocking the whole thing down!”

“What are you doing? If you leave half the damn thing uneaten, surely more predators will track the scent here…”

Still, for all his corrections, there were as many deep, important conversations, one-sided as they were, that he could never have had with anyone else. It had only been he and his uncle out there most of his life, and even on the brief trips they had once made to the nearby town, Yuri never managed to befriend anyone, and certainly not anyone his age.

“My grandpa calls me Yuratchka. It’s a nickname, an endearing one, he said I got my name from my mother. I’ve never met her, though. She and my father had to move away soon after I was born because she was sick, and they didn’t want me to catch it…”

“I know all about the woods. Well, you probably know more than me, being a trickster-bear and all, but… My grandpa taught me everything he knows about hunting and fishing and gathering. We live completely off the land, I even grow herbs and store them for grandpa’s pain…”

“I’ve never met any other urban legends. Not like you. I’ve never befriended any wild animals, either. I have my cat, Potya, but she doesn’t really count, does she? She’s domesticated, and she doesn’t run off. She even spends the nights inside with us…”

It was during one of these deep conversations that Yuri found himself sitting on the ground, the bear’s head in his lap as he gently stroked the thick fur, in much the same way as he would sit at home, petting Potya. It was odd, he thought. He was already so comfortable with this trickster, who was at his very core likely another young person just like Yuri, trying to make it out in these cruel woods. The only difference, really, was that he could transform into whatever he wished. Yuri could not.

“I wish I could at least know your name.” Yuri said softly, as he smoothed over the bear’s thick coat. He had been up walking around more and more each day, and Yuri had long since disposed of the bloodstained rags that had dressed the bear’s wound. “I know you’ll be going soon- you’re almost completely healed. I just wish there was some way to… Wait!” Yuri lurched up then, apologizing as the bear quickly scrambled up as well, and watched as the boy dug into his pack, bringing out a small silver chain, with a bit of turquoise wound into one end. Yuri slowly walked back over to the bear, marveling at how he held still as the chain was tied around his neck.

“There- now even if you leave, if we meet again, I’ll know it’s you.” The bear, of course, said nothing, but Yuri liked to imagine there was a certain gratitude in those dark eyes as the bear stared back at him, as if hanging on every word. This sort of scene continued, until one day when Yuri showed up, and for the first time, the bear was standing, facing the direction Yuri always came, as if waiting for him. Yuri could swear he had a hopeful look on his face.

“What are you still doing here?” The words were out before he could stop them, but the bear just blinked back at Yuri, unmoving. It didn’t make any sense. His wound had mostly healed now, as far as Yuri could tell, and a quick pass around the bear confirmed that. “Shouldn’t you be off, running free in the woods? Hunting for your own food, like a real bear?” As per usual, he received no answer. His only conclusion was that the bear had gotten used to him, attached to him, and Yuri felt a stab of guilt. Another lesson he’d received from his grandpa had been at age 12, when Yuri had brought home a fawn he’d found lost in the woods.

_Now Yuratchka_ , his grandpa had said, _domesticating wild animals is no good for us or them. You’ll deprive her of the skills she needs to learn in order to grow up and live happy and healthy in the woods, as a real deer._ He’d let her go, and hadn’t tried the same thing again. Up until now. He had no other choice; he had to make the bear go away.

“Go on, get out of here!” Yuri tried gruffly, and the bear took a few tentative steps back. The guilt drove even deeper, a blade through his heart, as Yuri remembered he’d never spoken in anything but soft tones to the bear. But this was for his own good, and so Yuri steeled himself, shouting angrily, “Go away! Go back to the wilds, where you belong!” He advanced on the bear, raising his fist, and the bear broke away, turning and running for the hills. As he watched, the pain and anger soared to their peak. Yuri turned away, tears streaming down his face, and destroyed the shelter he had built.

The small fence and the fire pit went the same way, the heat snuffed out with snow before Yuri stomped and kicked and smashed his way through all he had built, before grabbing his things and running home. To keep himself sane, he kept repeating the same words over and over in his mind, even as he dried his tears to avoid raising his grandpa’s suspicion. _It was for his own good. It was for his own good._

His chores went back to normal after that day- no more missing firewood, or returning from hunts empty handed, no more stress or guilt over keeping secrets. He was taking care of his grandfather, making the old man proud, just as it was always meant to be. And yet, Yuri felt depressed, that something was missing. It wasn’t hard to link his sudden drop in mood to the bear’s absence, and the companionship his silent friend had provided. His grandfather, as always, saw right through him, and as he always did, he brought it up at dinner.

“Yuratchka…” He trailed off, and Yuri, his heart aching, supplied the words for him.

“I know, grandpa. I should take joy in my work, and be grateful for what we have.” He gave the other a shaky smile, truly not wanting to disappoint him. “Thank you.”

“I was going to say, Yuratchka…” Yuri looked up in confusion. “...That in this life, there are only a few things that make us truly happy. If… If you find one of those things, you should pursue it. No matter what.” Yuri couldn’t believe his ears. It was as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and he didn’t know or care how his grandpa had figured out, or how much he knew. He simply finished up dinner as quickly as he could, excusing himself from the table early. Before he left, however, he hugged the old man tightly.

“Thank you, grandpa.” He said earnestly, before going straight to bed, a plan already forming in his mind. The next day, his search began. First, he returned to the site where he had destroyed the little shelter. He did not expect the bear to be there, and he was right. Despite this, he carefully reconstructed the shelter, and the fire pit, trying to make both look exactly as they had been before he’d destroyed them. Then, he started up the fire, adding a pine bough or two to make it smoke. Maybe the signal would draw the bear back. Then, he picked a direction, and set out, walking in long, sweeping patterns, coming back at the end of the day to check the campsite.

Each day he would follow this routine after completing his chores, starting up the signal fire, picking a direction, and sweeping the woods as far as he could stand to walk that way. He found no sign of the bear or where he had gone, not even tracks, the light snowfall they were getting every night made sure of that. Still, his determination didn’t flag, and every day his hope to find his friend fueled his search through the cold and the snow.

It happened on one of these days, after he’d checked the little lean to and started the fire. He was headed west, deeper into the woods, on a path that turned away from both the town the the north, and his grandpa’s cabin to the south. He ran into a man, a stranger, who immediately set him on his guard and had him reaching for the hunting knife sheathed in his belt. It was rarely good news when one ran into another person so deep in the woods, and Yuri’s first thought, as the man approached, was poacher.

“Don’t come any closer!” He snarled harshly. “I am armed!” This didn’t seem to deter the man, and Yuri backed up a couple of steps, ready to make a run for it if need be. To his relief, the man stopped once he was close enough to see his face, and Yuri narrowed his eyes. The man didn’t look like a poacher. In fact, he didn’t look like anyone Yuri had ever seen, in the woods or in town. He was young, almost handsome, with warm, tawny skin, a close cut to his hair on the sides, and a complete lack of facial hair. His dark eyes seemed familiar, and Yuri tensed again as the man spoke.

“You would really stab an old friend. Well don’t you remember me, Yuri?” His voice, deep and heavily accented, sent chills down Yuri’s spine, but he refused to give in to whatever trickery this man was playing on him.

“How do you know my…” Yuri trailed off as the man reached into the pockets of his cloak, as dark as his hair and contrasting starkly against the snow. His grip on the hunting knife tightened, ready to draw at the first sudden movement. He watched, taut with tension, as the man slowly pulled a small silver chain from his pocket, a chunk of turquoise woven in at one end.

His grip on the knife went slack, as did his jaw, and Yuri stumbled back a few steps, before the man began to transform before his very eyes. Rays of light shone from his body, and danced around his glowing core, which subtly shifted and grew until it was a new shape entirely, a young black bear staring back at him, blinking calmly the way he always had.

Otabek- that was the trickster’s name- soon shifted back, and explained all that he had been up to during his absence, as he walked alongside Yuri through the woodland paths. He had been injured by a poacher’s trap, Otabek said, and he’d hurt himself even further pulling out of it. He had tried to walk a distance away from where he’d been trapped, but had eventually collapsed from loss of blood. He hadn’t been lying there long when Yuri had found him, but he was still very weak. 

This weakness had continued throughout the care Yuri had provided, and he had remained in his alter form much longer than he’d expected, even spending a few more days as a bear even after Yuri had chased him away. When he’d returned and found the shelter destroyed, Otabek explained, he had thought Yuri had actually been angry at him for imposing, and he had not come back until he had seen the signal fire from a path near his home, much farther west than here.

“I never meant to trick you out of your food,” Otabek said now. Yuri was almost too busy getting lost and carried along by the baritone notes of his voice to realize he should answer.

“No! No, no, no, I wanted to give you that food. I wanted to help you.” Guilt pricked at his chest. “I didn’t know you were still healing. If I had, I never would’ve-”

“It’s okay, Yuri.” Otabek had interrupted, though not unkindly, and for the first time, a grin spread across his face. Yuri, despite the cold, suddenly felt as if he could melt. “It was kind of you to take any heed at all, much less nurse me back to my feet.” By listening, and studying him, Yuri quickly learned that despite Otabek’s generally stoic expression, he had warmth in his heart, and it shone through his eyes and his voice like sunlight through the crowds. The two of them spent the day simply walking side by side, and talking, until Yuri realized with a start that the sun was setting.

“Ah, damn it.” He muttered quietly. “I have to get back to my-”

“Your grandpa.” Otabek said softly. Yuri felt a spark of warmth in his chest that Otabek had seemed to retain all Yuri had told him, even in his injured state. “It’s okay, Yuri. You should go.” He smiled. “I’ll still be here.” He frowned as Yuri began quickly shaking his head.

“No. No way. You’ve got to meet him, and stay the night. You said this part of the woods was far from your home, right? I brought you here, I can’t let you stay out in the cold. Even if you are a bear half the time.” Yuri could sense a glimmer of amusement in Otabek’s dark eyes as he said this, and he gave a final push. “Come on. He’s been wondering what I’ve been getting myself into, I know it. He would love you!”

Otabek gave a quiet hum, before relenting. “Alright.” Yuri, elated, grabbed the other’s hand before he could think to be embarrassed about it, and led him happily along the rest of the trail, only stopping and letting go of Otabek once they had arrived, going about his evening chores. Otabek followed him, silent and observing, and lightly stroking Potya when she greeted him with an accusing meow when she realized Yuri had brought home a stranger.

“Hush”, Yuri had told her, as he opened the door to let her inside for the night. Otabek, predictably, followed him in, but stood at the door for a moment, before toeing off his large boots. “Grandpa!” Yuri called. “There’s someone you should meet…”

Yuri trailed off as his grandfather limped into the room, his brow raising in surprise as he took in the young man standing next to his grandson. Yuri watched, and could almost see the puzzle pieces fitting together in his grandpa’s mind as he looked back and forth between the two of them. Yuri waited silently, nervous that his grandpa wouldn’t be accepting. But, the man only cleared his throat.

“Is this what has been taking up so much of your time, Yuratchka?” Slowly, Yuri nodded.

“Grandpa, this is Otabek. He’s my… He is a good friend to me,” Yuri felt heat flood his cheeks, and tried not think of the rosy color his face must be. His grandpa, much to Yuri’s delight, invited them both to sit, and went to make some tea, before asking Yuri to explain. And so he began to tell his tale, starting at the beginning when he had found Otabek in the form of a young bear, injured and with no one to help. The trickster often supplied parts of the story that Yuri had missed, or expanded on bits of it told from his own point of view. Yuri went on, even confessing to the petty crimes of using their firewood and game to care for the other, but he felt lighter when his grandpa did not seem angry over it.

“He needs a place to stay tonight, grandpa.” Yuri pleaded, once he had finished his story. “His home is far from here, and the poacher who set that trap could still be out there. Please, grandpa. He could use the spare bedroom, the one you said mother used to stay in.” He was surprised when his grandpa simply nodded, waving them off, and Yuri again grabbed Otabek’s hand, though this time he had the sense to grow flustered over it, quickly letting go and apologizing once they were in the room, blushing furiously. Otabek only gave him another of those soft smiles.

“I don’t mind. You have already pet me, after all.” This only made Yuri blush harder, earning a laugh from Otabek. 

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Otabek said softly. “I am… more than comfortable, here. Thank you. And tell your grandpa my deepest thanks goes to him as well.” Yuri nodded, again, before stopping abruptly at the door.

“You don’t want to join us for dinner?” Damn it, Yuri, keep the eagerness out of your voice. Otabek’s eyes twinkled, and he shook his head.

“No, thank you. I think I will just turn in early.”

Yuri nodded, hovering in the doorway. There was really no reason to linger- Otabek had clearly dismissed him, needing nothing else, and yet the trickster didn’t protest, steadily meeting Yuri’s gaze as the Russian looked at him, calm and quiet. Finally, Yuri simply bid him goodnight, and left to have dinner with his grandpa, before going to bed himself.

Under the cover of darkness, Yuri could let himself feel giddy, hiding his grin from the world in his thick wool blanket, and letting Otabek’s laugh play over and over in his head, before finally drifting off to sleep. There was always the threat of theft, or vandalism, he knew, but that was a risk they took with every hunter they allowed to stay over. His grandpa had refused to let the badness of others ruin the goodness of his own hospitality. So far, everyone they had let stay had left the place just as neat as before, and Otabek, Yuri was relieved to find, was no exception.

He joined Yuri for breakfast, and followed him around as he did his chores, mostly observing just like the evening before, but occasionally asking a question, about Potya, about the goats, or their feed. They left to collect firewood that day, Otabek offering to help with the work. After the obligatory confirmation that Otabek was sure he wanted to help, and that he was even in the state to do so, they quickly assembled a pack frame for him as well, and together, easily collected twice the amount of firewood Yuri was typically able to carry.

Otabek stayed another night out of circumstance, and Yuri’s grandpa didn’t seem to mind, though the trickster still thanked him profusely for his hospitality, and promised he would be making his way back home the next day. Nikolai insisted he was not imposing. Needless to say, Otabek did not go home the next day, or the next. They fell into a sort of pattern, each day beginning with breakfast, eaten together at the crack of dawn. Then, Otabek would accompany Yuri on his morning chores, absorbing all the knowledge he could and starting to help, spreading the feed for the goats or shifting a pole in the fence back in place. Then, they would fish, hunt, or gather for the day, spending any free time they had walking through the woods together, or sitting on the porch while Yuri patched clothing, or Otabek whittled small wooden shapes of different animals, most often cats or bears, and always, always talking, about their childhoods, their interests, their families, their favorite foods and the weather they hated.

Otabek’s entire family had been tricksters, his mother most often taking form of a bear, his father fond of smaller, more sly animals like the lynx or the fox. He’d had several siblings, old, young, and everywhere in between, who often left to start new lives for themselves. Tricksters often didn’t live in groups, Otabek explained, and even family dynamics did not stick together for long. And so his time had come to set off on his own, bidding his family goodbye and leaving to find his own little patch of woods. He had a small cabin a little less than a day’s walk from Yuri’s, where he stored much of his food and tools needed to survive. He often returned to the place for a few days, before showing up at Yuri’s home again, always grinning when their eyes met, and raising his hand in a wave. 

Otabek taught Yuri how to whittle, different ways of tracking game, and where to find the berry bushes and herbs that had been sheltered from the worst of the snow. In turn, Yuri showed him how to run fresh wire across the goat’s fence, how to talk his way out of altercations with poachers, and how to build the shelter that had housed him from the elements all those weeks ago, as well as many others.

The more time they spent with each other, the closer they became, and Yuri was not naive to what was happening between them as time went on. Otabek would often comment on the lean line of muscle along Yuri’s shoulders, or the way his eyes glinted in the light, and in turn Yuri would remark on Otabek’s strength, or intelligence, or the light in his eyes or his crooked smile. Truthfully, there were so many qualities of Otabek’s that Yuri could gush about, and he often had to stop himself before he ruined the tough reputation he had oh so carefully constructed around his new friend. Still, he got the sense that Otabek wouldn’t mind if he did- the trickster never judged him too harshly, even when he made a misstep or said something rude, or snapped out of anger, and Yuri began to believe the friendship-bordering-on-more they had cultivated was too good to be true.

And perhaps it was.

They had made it past the dead of winter, the coldest part of the year, and as the temperature rose, climbing steadily each day, in the midst of caring for Yuri’s grandpa, he and Otabek began to clear a path to the trickster’s cabin, first cutting away the branches and brush with their knives, and then hammering it into the ground, creating an easier, faster way for Otabek to go back and forth between his two homes, and opening up the opportunity for Yuri to visit, though it was not often, as he did not like to be so far from his grandpa for so long. Their presence, as well their scent, eventually permeated the trail, and even the apex predators of the forest learned that the space belonged to them now, and Yuri began to feel safe, walking back and forth along it, all on his own.

That proved to be a mistake. For the second stranger he met, walking home one day as the sun began to set, was definitely not Otabek this time. This man was much taller, and broad, with a thick gray beard falling down bast his chest and an evil look in his gray eyes. Over one shoulder, was slung a firearm, lazily held there with one careless hand. On the other, the corpse of a pretty lynx, female, with blood spotting her coat near her muzzle. Yuri instantly froze, his eyes wide and reaching for his knife.

“There will be no need for that, little boy,” the poacher snarled, accent thick, as he advanced with a swagger in his step and reaching to lay a large, beefy hand on Yuri’s shoulder. He was terrified, and felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but Yuri refused to go down without a fight, quickly shoving the man’s hand off and backing up several steps, in the direction of Otabek’s cabin, where he had left him. He wondered briefly if he should make a run for it, call for help, while at the same time knowing it was futile.

“Keep your fucking hands off me,” Yuri snarled, drawing his knife and pointing it at the poacher. He earned only an ugly cackle and a mocking repetition of his words. 

“You know, boys like you piss me off.” The man muttered, taking a few more steps towards Yuri. Trying to be discreet about it, Yuri backed up a few more. “Youth these days, so entitled. Weren’t raised right.” This caused a hot flash of anger to rise in Yuri’s chest, and despite his fear, he had to respond to the insult.

“That’s not true! My grandpa is the best man in the world, much better than you!” He realized he’d said too much when a terrible grin spread across the man’s face, and he backed up again in fear as the poacher advanced still further.

“Your grandpa, huh? Well, you’ll be telling me where he lives soon enough. But not before I teach you a few manners.” He lunged for Yuri then, and the Russian jumped back, at the same time raising his knife, bracing for an impact that never came. For at that moment, an earth-shattering roar split his ears, and a whirl of dark fur obstructed his vision as a very familiar black bear suddenly appeared, tackling the poacher to the ground. A gunshot went off, and Yuri scrambled to his feet, shaking as he watched the fight, trying to figure out where, when, how he could assist Otabek, his knife seeming feeble against the glint of claws and the barrel of the gun that flashed in the light as the two dueled.

Two, three, four more gunshots rang out, amidst the racket of horrible growls and pained screams from the poacher and the bear, and Yuri felt helpless as he watched bright red blood splatter in the pure white snow. It felt like an eternity, though it was likely only minutes, before the struggle stopped, and Otabek stood above the lifeless form of the poacher. 

Relieved, and ecstatic, Yuri rushed towards him as the trickster shifted, shouting, “You did it! Beka, you did-” He broke off with a horrified gasp as Otabek, upon taking his human form, immediately collapsed, blood oozing from several wounds on his body, but most noticeably from a bullet wound in his right shoulder.

“Yura…”

“No, no, no, no.” Yuri tried to hold onto Otabek as he sank to his knees in the snow, ignoring the blood staining his coat. That was the least of his worries. “Not this again, not now. Please, Beka…”

“Yura.” Otabek gripped his hand tightly, and Yuri held on, biting back a sob. “Is he dead? Is he really dead?” Otabek asked, his voice strained. Yuri turned in horror, expecting the man to be rising to shoot them once more, but his body was as lifeless as ever, his chest unmoving,

“Yes,” he answered shakily. “Yes, he’s dead. You killed him, Beka, but why would you ask…”

“He was the one,” Otabek gasped. “It was his trap I stepped in… He’d been tracking me in my bear form for days…” A shudder went through his body, and his voice faded, and Yuri quickly shrugged off his coat, tearing his shirt to ribbons just like the day they had met, binding the wound on Otabek’s shoulder as tightly as he could. Shivering, he quickly shrugged his coat back on, and struggled to his feet, bringing Otabek with him. He apologized as the action earned a pained shout, and tried to shush Otabek, even as the trickster insisted on speaking.

“The lynx… she’s…” He swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. “We can’t leave her, Yuri…” 

“We’ll come back to her, Beka, I promise,” Yuri breathed, tears running down his face. “But it’s too late for her now, it’s not too late for you.” Otabek didn’t answer him again, and as darkness closed in around them, Yuri began the long trek back to his grandpa’s cabin, supporting an unresponsive Otabek on the way there. Only muscle memory guided him through the dark, and only his pure desperation to save the trickster override his fear of what could be lurking in the dark and allowed him to push forward. They stumbled several times, and each time Yuri would curse, more afraid of Otabek’s lack of reaction than anything else, and he would pick himself back up again, sling Otabek’s arm over his shoulder, and continue walking. Somehow, miraculously, his friend continued to walk. There was no way Yuri could have made it, supporting Otabek’s weight on his own.

“Grandpa will know what to do, Beka,” he kept whispering into the dark. The clouds covered the moon, and there was no light to guide him as he trudged along. “You just have to make it to grandpa's, okay, Beka? I know you can do that for me.” He continued this mantra, comprised of reassurances that were meant for himself just as much as they were meant for Otabek, and Yuri nearly sobbed in relief as he saw the silhouette of his grandfather waiting up on the porch, illuminated by the light of a rusty old lantern. 

“It was a poacher,” Yuri sobbed breathlessly as his grandpa took Otabek’s other arm. “He was shot three times; once in the shoulder and twice in the abdomen. But he did it; he won the fight. He killed that demon to protect me, grandpa, we can’t let him die…”

“Shh, shh, hush now, Yuratchka, help me get him inside, on the bed. I promise you, I will do everything I can for him…” His grandpa reassured, guiding Yuri to lay Otabek out on the large bed, the one his grandpa typically slept on. Otabek’s typically warm pallor had gone pale and gray, and Yuri would have faltered at that point, if not for the steady, commanding tone of his grandpa’s voice as he instructed him on what to do. 

“I need you to fetch some rags, Yuratchka, as well as some water, and a candle, as well as some matches. The needle, and thread, as well. And bring the herbs from the kitchen. Clean off your knife as well, and bring all of this to me. Quickly, now, while I look over the wounds.” It occurred to him, as he scrambled about the cabin collecting the items, that it was probably best if he did not have to see the wounds in their current state. It wasn’t that Yuri was squeamish, far from it, but Otabek had brought him such happiness, for such a long time now. It felt indescribably daunting to think of losing him, and so Yuri forced that thought deep down, and willed his hands to still, as he brought the requested items to his grandpa, forcing himself not to look as he stood on the other side of Otabek’s form, squeezing his hand tightly as the procedure began.

The blade was cleaned and sterilized, and used to extract the bullets from Otabek’s torso, now only covered by the sheets on the bed. His bloodstained clothing had been stripped from his body, and piled in the corner to minimize the mess. Yuri’s tears began anew as he felt OTabek’s hand squeeze back, just as his grandpa began to thread the first stitches through the more serious wound on his shoulder, after cleansing it with water and herbs. The shallower wounds were soon tended to in the same way, and together, Yuri and his grandpa worked to clothe Otabek in one of Nikolai’s old cloaks, before wrapping him snugly in every sheet and wool blanket in the cabin, not only to keep his body from losing temperature but to encourage it to sweat out any fever that dared settle in his weak state.

After the whole ordeal was done, and there was nothing more to do but wait to see if Otabek would awaken, Nikolai faced Yuri with a grim look.

“I have done everything I can, Yuratchka, as have you. You have helped me tremendously tonight, but you will not do him any good by tiring yourself out.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “You should get some sleep.”

It was too much, it felt like a death sentence, like his grandpa was admitting he did not know if Otabek would make it. “No.” He whispered quietly, remembering the feeling of Otabek squeezing his hand, even while he had been fighting for his life. Now, Otabek’s hand was lifeless, though his heartbeat and his breathing continued weakly, and Yuri squeezed again, not again not knowing if he was trying to reassure Otabek, or himself. “I won’t leave his side, grandpa.” Yuri blinked, fresh tears carving pathways down his cheeks. “I will stay with him, at least while he is… like this.”

His grandpa nodded, as if expecting this answer, and turned away briefly. Then, “I will say this: if he makes it through the night, he has a good chance of surviving this incident.” Yuri nodded, and settled in for a long night of watching over Otabek, checking his pulse and his breathing every five minutes, then fifteen, then every half hour, and then every hour. As the clock struck midnight, he began pressing his lips to Otabek’s forehead from time to time as well, checking for the telltale heat of a fever, but nothing seemed to develop.

The memory of Otabek, leaping fearlessly into danger to defend him, seemed to replay in Yuri’s mind over and over, until he did not even have to ask himself why. Previous memories answered that question well enough, and Yuri realized Otabek’s actions, as well as his resulting life-threatening injuries, had been a wakeup call. And it was one Yuri did not plan on ignoring. If only his Beka would wake up for him.

He spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of consciousness, never forgetting to rouse himself and check Otabek’s vitals. When not sleeping or caring for his friend, Yuri would talk softly to him, just as he had when Otabek had been injured before, retelling him stories of their times together, and sharing his thoughts about each he had been too afraid to share before. When those stories ran out, he switched to singing, always soft and quiet, often lullabies or fairy tales. He began retelling their story again, around three in the morning, in an effort to convince himself Otabek’s suddenly stronger heartbeat wasn’t just in his imagination.

“I think you were really brave, you know.” He admitted finally, carding his fingers through Otabek’s thick, dark hair. “You didn’t have to do that for me… Don’t even know how you managed to know I was in trouble, or get there so fast… But I guess it doesn’t matter. You saved me. You…” The tears began to fall again. “You were ready to sacrifice yourself for me. Oh, Beka…” Yuri clutched at the man’s hand again, beginning to sob into his chest. “Beka… Please come back to me. Please come home.” He didn’t receive an answer, and as the dark night faded to the gray of morning, Yuri felt as if all his pain had been cried out, and at his grandpa’s request, he had left the room to go and get breakfast, with Nikolai promising to watch over Otabek as Yuri ate. The only thought that kept Yuri from collapsing was the truth that Otabek had made it through the night. He was going to survive. So why hadn’t he woken up yet?

Yuri could barely manage to lift the bread to his lips, let alone take more than a couple of bites. Still, Yuri forged on, as much as the taste was gone, as much as his stomach protested. Otabek would want him to take care of himself, he thought dully. Otabek would want him to eat. He was halfway through the bread when his grandpa called from the bedroom.

“Yuratchka!”

His voice gave nothing away, damn him, and as Yuri scrambled hastily to his feet, he banged his bare toes on the heavy oak table, and swore the entire time as he limped his way into the bedroom. There, sitting upright on the bed, was his Beka, still looking a little worse for wear, but alive, and blinking back at him calmly, just like he always had.

“Beka,” Yuri breathed, and in an instant he was at the trickster’s side, throwing his arms around him and holding him tight, even as the soft reverberations of a chuckle made their way through Otabek’s chest, and he slowly lifted his arms to return the embrace, giving a content sigh, as if this was all he had ever lived for. Neither noticed as Nikolai slowly slipped out the door, intent on giving the two of them their space. “You just had to go and get yourself nearly killed again, didn’t you?”

“And you had to go and save me again.” Otabek answered, his usually soft voice even softer, but his eyes held a warm smile that would not be extinguished. Yuri shook his head.

“You saved me. You saved me, Beka…” Something changed in the trickster’s eyes then, as Yuri continued. “I thought I’d lost you… But I never want to lose you, Otabek.” The force behind his own words would have scared Yuri, if he had not already decided what he wanted. His heart nearly stopped as Otabek reached up, gently running a thumb over Yuri’s cheek, brushing away a tear he hadn’t known had been there.

“And I never want to lose you, Yura.” Otabek said softly, and before he could lose his nerve, Yuri leaned in, tilting his head and closing his eyes, and his lips met with Otabek’s. Their kiss was brief, but full of love, and giggling as they bumped noses, pulling away to simply gaze into the eyes each had been convinced they had lost, but beginning to find peace in the knowledge that, from this day forward, at least they would not be alone.

Otabek healed quickly after that grave first night, and Yuri was right by his side, the entire way. There were often quips and jokes, not only then but long after, about saving each other and Yuri nursing Otabek back to health, and while Nikolai quickly grew tired of their same old humor, the jokes never grew old to Otabek and Yuri. As soon as they were able, they returned to the path where the lynx’s body, and that of the poacher’s, laid side by side, preserved by the quickly retreating snow. As the ice melted and the ground thawed, each were given a proper burial, though the poacher’s grave they left unmarked, and far away from their path through the woods. 

The lynx, they buried at the midway point of the path, and her grave was covered with stones. From that day on, Otabek and Yuri always traveled together, and each time they passed by her grave, they left wildflowers of every color and shape imaginable for the lynx, ever grateful for the life they had, and the chance they’d been given to spend it together. As their world thawed and the snow melted, they found in their travels a den of young lynx cubs, who by their guile and charm, wormed their way into the hearts of the trickster and his love, and the little family lived out the rest of their days together, happy and free.


End file.
